How I disappear
by Kaspah
Summary: There's something wrong with Chris... (Changed to In-Progress.)


_Chris, you okay, Bro? Chris?_

_Yes, Martin! For the last time, I'm fine._

Brow eyes opened, glaring at the ceiling of his porcelain room. He could still hear the worry in _his_ voice, something that seemed to plague his every waking moment, or even in his dreams. It was impossible to even catch a bit of time to himself without hearing his unfamiliar voice, the eerie awkward laugh, and the giddy light in his blue eyes. How could he not know who he was? Not know what it was that kept him awake through the night? Tossing the black bed-spread off of him, he curled up in the one thing that gave him solace in the short hours of loneliness.

Pulling the near leafy green sheet over his curled form, he wrapped it around as best he could. Something about the sheet drew his attention, almost as if it were a long lost friend or something akin to it. Sure, he should have been repulsed by the idea, disgusted by the fact that he held so much stock in one single piece of fabric, but... it helped him. For reasons unknown to him, it calmed his nerves, pushed what concerns and doubts he had to the back of his mind. In all aspects of the word... it was his safe-place, the one thing that kept him from falling into the trivial pit of longing.

His chest felt tight, revulsion and pride swirling in the pit of his gut; a tempest that would no doubt be out of control if he were any less composed, any less measured and... without his safe-blanket. He could still hear the other voice in his dreams, the one that ordered him around and told him what he had to do. What could he really say about the man? That he hated his hair? Or that he had pale skin from lack of sunlight? All of them were just physical aspects of a single person of interest.

Zach, the very name could haunt his dreams, but how could he hate the person that had been there to help him from the beginning of his memory? Most of it was still fuzzy, blurry... a dream-scape to him... a storybook almost. He had been told things that he never even remembered, but how could he know if they were true or not? How could he separate lies from truth when he could not even remember his name?

_Chris_, that was all he had been told of his name. Zach had explained to him that the two of them had been friends during their childhood, that Chris was the one that had to protect the black haired kid from being bullied, from the bad things in his life... that he was his best friend. What could be so wrong about that? Everytime he thought about it, tried to recall the memories, his gut seemed to curl, his breathing always growing faster than he anticipated it would.

"Chris, shouldn't you be asleep?" He knew that voice, the scratchy undertone it had, and the near undetectable sense of worry.

"I was trying to, I just couldn't, sorry Zach." He offered a weary smile, fatigue all too aparent as he clutched the sheet, wrinkling the delicate fabric.

"We have a long day ahead of us, you need your sleep if we're going to build the hotel," Zach's index finger grazed the curve of the sensor, "try and get some sleep."

Chris hated to admit it, but his heart felt strange, his chest having tightened. He could never indentify what was wrong with him, and some part of him wanted to tell Zach. But the most evident part of him want to get away from him, put some distance between himself and the man that never left him alone for long.

_"Come on, Chris!"_

Having had enough, Chris threw the blanket off of him and skulked off into the bathroom, fingers tightened into a fist of tension. How could he not know who that voice was?! It was someone important to him, he knew it. Every part of his body wanted to remember, a pit of longing perhaps, but never the less... It was a ghost he had to deal with. Clutching the sink, his breathing labored, he leaned over it in a dry-heave. Something was seriously wrong with him, something major but what could he do about it? He had no memories that he knew of and his body obviously wanted him to remember what had never been in his mind.

_"It's okay, Chris. We all fall, we just have to pick ourselves up!"_ Chirped the voice, an arm draped over his shoulders, fingers tickling his arm.

His response was as quick as it ever could have been, body turning sharply to look behind him, to see who it was that had been so close to him, but for the life of him... nothing was there. Nobody but his imagination. Forcing down the lump in his throat, the shiver traveling up his spin; he tried to calm his breathing. What was that just now? He had felt the hand, the arm over his shoulders and... and the voice... he knew that voice. He knew that reaction, he knew what it meant and that it was there for him. Palming his face, mouth open to take in a few more breaths of cold fresh air, while a bead of sweat traveled down the side of his cheek; he barely contained the heave that followed.

"Martin... who are you?" His eyes grew wet, chest tightening so much more than before. His hand moved up to the mirror, planting itself on the untouched glass, supporting him. The more he tried to think about it, the more teary eyed he got. Somewhere deep down, he knew he was close to this 'Martin', that he could never have went long without seeing him, but every word he spoke made his heart twist into knots. Someone he couldn't even picture, could so easily affect him to this extent?

Tears rolled down, his heart twisting as it always did. How could he like a green sheet, more than the red shirt he wore...?

VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVv VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVv VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVv

"So Chris, you ready to go meet the Rhinos?" The smug look on Martin's face, it was one thing Chris always admired about his brother. And the fact that he could always be happy, no matter what's going on. Like a ray of sunshine.

"Yeah." Flashing a smile, he glanced out the window, watching the terrain blur by. How could this day get any better?


End file.
